


Gerard Duty

by GarryWay



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: Drinking, Dubious Consent, It's porn, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - M/M/M, just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarryWay/pseuds/GarryWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you seen fucking Gerard?”</p>
<p>In which the band has a system for keeping tabs on their singer and somehow threesomes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gerard Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Mibba - I'm not exactly proud of this? but I wanted to play around with AO3's system.
> 
> *Little warning for sex w/o informed consent and generally unhealthy activities*

Recently, the band had created a new chore referred to as “Gerard Duty”; meaning that every time Gerard went unseen for extended periods of time, someone was nominated to locate him, make sure that he was breathing and uninjured, and then report back to the bus. Luckily (or unluckily, Frank wasn’t sure to be honest) Gerard had been spending most of his time with Bert, and although Bert wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice of a buddy for Gerard, he and Gerard  _did_  look out for each other when they were together, which was better than nothing, Frank supposes.  
  
“We go on in two hours,” Ray says, eyes focused on the analogue clock above the kitchenette. “I haven’t seen Gerard since yesterday’s show.”  
  
“I tried calling him,” Mikey let him know, “But he didn’t pick up. Texted him a bunch of times, too.”  
  
The four of them were silent for a long moment, before Otter finally said, “…I went yesterday.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Mikey shot back immediately, “I went yesterday. You went the day before.” Otter shrugged, and went back to his magazine.  
  
“I went three times in a row last week, man.” Ray groans, when three sets of expecting eyes were turned on him. “I have to shower. My hair’s starting to get seriously nasty. There are probably flies laying eggs in it.”  
  
“You’re never going to forget about that, are you?” Frank asks. Ray had been watching one of his beloved medical shows a few months back and there was a man with these filthy, long dreads complaining of head pains. It turns out that flies had laid eggs in the mess that was his hair, and when the eggs had hatched, the larvae had been steadily eating away at the back of his skull. It had been pretty fucking disturbing, and Ray had gotten seriously paranoid.  
  
“How could I?” Ray says, running a nervous hand through his hair.  
  
Mikey rolls his eyes, “Anyway, Frank – "  
  
“Why me?” Frank asks, affronted. “I had to hold the guy’s disgusting hair back last night while he threw up all over the lawn and my shoes. I think that counts as, like, a  _week_  of Gerard Duty.”  
  
There was another long pause between the group, before Ray cleared his throat, and slowly brought his finger up to his nose.  
  
“You can’t be  _seri_ \- oh fuck no.” Frank groans. While he’d been complaining, the rest of the band had hurried to touch their noses. “This is no fair way of appointing the Duty.”  
  
“Two hours, Frank.” Brian pipes up, sticking his head out the doorway of their makeshift studio. He’d totally been hiding, the dick. “Make sure he’s sober enough to, you know, walk by then.”  
  
Frank grumbles unhappily, but grabs his jacket (well, a jacket) and toes on his Enties. “If he throws up on me again, I am never doing this again, seriously. You guys can forget all about it. Or at least by me a new pair of fucking shoes.”  
  
Warped was fucking hectic all the time. Between the rows and rows of buses, there were roadies going back and forth carrying heavy bits of equipment, band dudes dicking around all over the place drinking or riding scooters or having water balloon fights or doing all three at once. There were groupies standing around trying to look hot, and hell, maybe they were, but Frank had been present for too many of Gerard’s anti-groupie rants and it had left Frank brainwashed. Warped was a fucking mess, but it was fun as hell and Frank loves it more than anything.  
  
His eyes dart around as he walks briskly down the bus isles, looking for either his stupid frontman or his stupid frontman’s stupid… boyfriend? (Frank really didn’t like to think about it) or any other stupid dude who usually hangs around with said stupid frontman. Luckily, he spotted Jepha leaning up against the side of a bus and talking to that guy with the stupid hair from Fall Out Boy. “Yo, Jeph!” He calls, rushing over there.  
  
“Frank! What’s up, man?” Jepha asks, and offers a half-gone joint to Frank. Frank really, really wants to accept it, but knows he shouldn’t. Not while he’s on Duty.  
  
“Have you seen fucking Gerard?” Frank asks, after politely declining Jepha’s offer.  
  
“Uh, he was on our bus when I left like, twenty minutes ago.” Jepha tells him, “He’s probably still there. They were pretty out of it, man – but seriously, I don’t know if you want to go in there.”  
  
Frank wishes he didn’t have to, but he has to physically see Gerard and remind him that they’re on in a couple hours. “I have to remind him that we’re on soon,” Frank explained, “But thanks man, I’ll see you around.”  
  
He hurries off again, heading vaguely for where he remembers The Used’s bus to be. Luckily when he gets there, the door isn’t locked, just barely propped open by a shoe on the other side. Frank gingerly pulls the door open, and steps inside.  
  
Their bus is a little messier than My Chem’s, but that’s to be expected because Frank can be a bit of a cleanliness Nazi. The floor is mostly bare though, so Frank has room to step move around. There’s no one in the front lounge. “Gerard?” He calls, and steps a little further into the bus. “Gee? You here? …Bert?”  
  
Frank goes to move again, maybe check the back room, when he hears it; a soft moan through the door to the bunks. Frank feels half relieved, and half slightly terrified, in a sense, because he knows from several years of touring together that that noise is definitely one of Gerard’s.  
  
Frank bites his lip and mulls over his options. That might not have been exactly what Frank thought it was. Maybe Gerard had been asleep, and was woken up by Frank’s calls and that was a sound of displeasure from being forced awake? Maybe.  
  
But then, of course, there’s that other option.  
  
Frank doesn’t like to think about Gerard’s relationship with Bert. Everyone had known from the very beginning that the two were a little  _too_  handsy to be completely platonic, but no one had really thought into it any further. Apart from Frank, of course, because Frank had to be  _that_  guy; the one standing on the side watching and feeling his gut twist with dread when he saw the two kiss or saw Bert slip his hand into the back pocket of Gerard’s jeans, or when they were pressed up close on the couch, murmuring and giggling to one another like no one else existed.  
  
Frank  _hated_  it.  _He_  should’ve been the guy making Gerard smile like he knew the best kind of secret.  
  
That part of Frank – the jealous, teenage girl – was what prompted him to stomp forward and throw the door to the bunk area open, prepared to drag Gerard away from whatever he was doing because fuck.  
  
But once he had done that, all plans of making a scene and interrupting just – oh, went right back out the fucking door, because Gerard was on the floor, on his hands and knees and Bert was hunched over his back; fingers of one hand biting into Gerard’s hip and the other fisting Gerard’s hair, keeping his head tilted back and the long, white expanse of his neck exposed. And they were  _fucking_  – Bert was fucking into Gerard hard and fast, and the sharp slap of balls against skin resonated throughout the whole room.  
  
Frank wanted to run, wanted to slam the door shut again and just walk away, but he  _couldn’t_  because Gerard – fuck. Gerard was just fucking  _taking_  it and moaning like a whore, like it was the best fuck he’d ever had, shoving himself back hard into every thrust and rubbing his face on the mess on the floor when Bert frees his hair... It was ridiculous. It was so fucking hot.  
  
Frank had no idea what to do with himself.  
  
Bert looked up, then, and gave Frank one of those grins that make you think he might be an escapee from an insane asylum rather than the singer of a band. His rhythm slowed, and Gerard made a desperate, unhappy sound.  
  
“How’s it goin’, Iero?” He asks, like he wasn’t kneeling on the ground balls-deep in Frank’s best friend.  
  
“Uh,” Frank says, face flushing. His brain is screaming at him to  _turn the fuck around_  and  _get out of there_  but he just can’t  _move_.  
  
“You here to join the party? Or…” Gerard looks up, then, and makes eye contact with Frank for a full second before Bert snaps his hips forward again, and Gerard closes his eyes tightly and arches. Frank realizes then (like he couldn’t have guessed before) that Gerard must be really fucking messed up at the moment, to acknowledge Frank and not give a shit rather that rushing to cover himself like he usually would. The guy doesn’t like people seeing him  _shirtless_ , let alone getting fucked.  
  
“U-uh, no. Um, we have. We’re on in um, about an hour and a – uh.” Frank squeezes his eyes shut, and turns around. “You know, I’ll just like, leave a um. A note. On the counter. So when uh, when you’re done,”  
  
And he’s leaving, he is turning around and leaving the bus, but then Bert just calls out a slurred “Hey, Frankie!”  
  
Frank stops in the doorway, but doesn’t turn around. Of fucking course he doesn’t turn around. He can still hear Gerard’s soft, hitching gasps and  _Jesus_  Frank should be  _gone already_  why is he still here _listening_  to this? “Yeah?”  
  
“D’ya wanna – fuck, Gee – d’ya wanna join us?” Frank can’t believe his fucking ears. “He likes it, uh, he likes it when someone takes ‘is mouth when he’s getting fucked, don’t you, Gerard?” And Gerard groans his agreement.  
  
“Uh,” Frank says, “…I think I’m alright, thanks.” Because what the fuck else is he going to say? This is all too fucking much. This is worse than Gerard puking on and ruining his shoes. Frank is never doing Gerard Duty  _again_.  
  
It’s then that Gerard finally speaks up, and Frank thinks  _thank God_  when he first hears his voice. Gerard is sobering up, or at least waking from this fucking trance and is going to realize what’s going on, and throw Bert off of him.  
  
But he doesn’t.  
  
What Gerard actually does is say his name, first a tight, broken gasp, and then a louder, more insistent “ _Frankie_ ,” And Frank turns around, and he shouldn’t have done that because god fucking  _damn_  if Gerard doesn’t look like some cock hungry slut writhing on the floor. He’s looking up at Frank with these desperate eyes and seriously Frank needs to  _leave_  and report back to the guys. “ _Please_.”  
  
Frank is then made very aware of his dick’s opinion of the situation, as it throbs in his jeans and Frank tells his cock firmly that they can definitely not join the party, because that would be taking advantage of Gerard in fucked up state. It would be wrong and Mikey would cut Frank’s fucking dick off if he found out.  
  
And.  
  
And then Frank’s moving forward, it’s like he has no control of his body. He’s  _screaming_  at himself to get  _out of there_  but in reality he’s moving closer and on the filthy bus floor, Gerard reaches out and wraps a hand around Frank’s ankle, rubbing his face against Frank’s calf like he’s a fucking cat or something.  
  
“ _Please_ ,”  
  
Frank’s morals go right out the fucking window, and he drops to his knees, fumbling for his belt. Bert sends him another manic grin when Frank meets his eyes on accident. Frank drops his eyes again immediately because Gerard has somehow managed to pull himself up enough to work at Frank’s belt himself, fingers a little shaky but effective in getting the thing unfastened. He goes for Frank’s fly next, and then he’s urging Frank up a little to pull the denim down his thighs.  
  
He’s still moaning, of course, and pushing himself back on Bert’s cock as best as he can while simultaneously trying to get at Frank’s dick. Frank has no idea what to do with his hands, so he reaches out and wraps a hand around the edge of someone’s bunk, and rests the other lightly on Gerard’s neck, quietly encouraging, and maybe at the same time trying to give Gerard some sort of warning.  
  
Gerard grins up at him, and presses his face against Frank’s cotton-clad dick, breathing in his scent and humming like it’s the best thing ever. Frank looks up at the ceiling and his hand tightens on Gerard’s neck. This is fucking happening.  
  
 _Sorry, Mikey. Sorry, Mrs. Way. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God._  
  
Gerard slowly,  _slowly_  pulls Frank’s underwear down, until they bunch around his thighs with his jeans, and wraps his hand around the base of Frank’s cock, making an appreciative noise between moans. Frank’s surprised he doesn’t just come right then, with Gerard’s hand working his cock as he drags his tongue over his lips.  
  
Suddenly Gerard moans out, and is shoved forward by Bert’s thrusts. It’s like it kick starts him back into action, and he remembers that a few minutes ago he was begging Frank to stick his cock in Gerard’s mouth. He moves forward and drags his tongue up the underside of Frank’s cock, sucks a little on that spot just under the head and then takes the tip of Frank’s cock in his mouth, and slides down until his nose is just about pressed up in the fine, dark hair at the base.  
  
It’s like from then on, everything is a blur, although Frank is completely sober. Gerard is sucking him like a fucking pornstar, and moaning and groaning the whole time as Bert fucks into him and it’s sending these  _vibrations_  all through Frank’s body. Frank slides a hand up and into Gerard’s hair, tugging just a little and Gerard moans even louder.  
  
“Yeah, he fucking loves that. Loves having his hair pulled,” Bert grits out, “C’mon, baby, suck ‘im.”  
  
Gerard groans, and moves faster. And fuck, it’s all so  _good_ , and Frank is going to feel guilty as hell later, but not now. Right now he can’t feel anything but that perfect, wet warmth and Gerard’s fucking  _tongue_  swirling around Frank’s shaft as he moves. And Frank just watches, watches Gerard’s mouth stretch to accommodate Frank’s cock, watches his cheeks hollow, watches his eyes just about roll back into his head as he’s fucked from both ends.  
  
And Frank doesn't like the guy, but Bert must obviously fucking know what he’s doing to make Gerard such a mess.  
  
Gerard pulls his mouth off of Frank’s cock and replaces it with his hand, pumping Frank tight and fast, pressing his forehead against Frank’s hip and he lets out a particularly high pitched sound, and pushes back against Bert hard and fast and Bert basically stops moving, just lets Gerard fuck himself on his cock and then Gerard makes that sound again, but somehow more desperate, hotter, and then he arches, and stills, his hand stationary around Frank’s cock.  
  
“ _Fuck_  yeah, that’s it, come on,” Bert is soothing him, rubbing his hands along Gerard’s sides as Gerard just  _shakes_  and whimpers. It’s then that Frank realizes that Gerard just  _came_. He just watched Gerard completely lose it, and god fucking  _damn_. Frank is going to be getting off to that image for the rest of his fucking  _life_.  
  
Gerard whimpers, and shakes his head. Frank rubs over Gerard’s hair and neck, half comforting and half encouraging because it’s selfish as hell but Frank really,  _really_  wants Gerard’s mouth on his cock again.  
  
“Okay,” Gerard gets out, “Okay, f-fuck. Keep going,” His hand starts moving again on Frank’s cock, and he laps a little at the base with his tongue as he comes to, and Bert starts fucking into him again, building up from a slow, steady rhythm.  
  
Gerard takes Frank’s cockhead into his mouth again, just sucking gently, digging his tongue into the slit. Frank chokes out a groan, and his hips snap forward of their own accord, pushing deeper into that wet heat. Gerard doesn’t seem to mind, and he just fucking goes for it then, picking up where he left off.  
  
Frank fists his hand in Gerard’s dirty hair, pulling hard, and Gerard makes another desperate sound around his cock. Gerard slides forward and swallows, taking Frank further into his throat and not even struggling with it. He truly is fucking amazing; an artist, writer, musician and fucking champion deep-throater.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, Iero.” Bert says, taking Frank’s attention off of Gerard’s mouth. “Wanna switch? I wanna come in his mouth.”  
  
And Frank pauses, looking down again. Gerard looks up at him from under his eyelashes and fuck, Gerard is seriously pretty, and hot, and Frank really wants to fuck his ass.  
“Yeah,” Frank croaks, and he gently eases Gerard off of his cock (the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, Jesus). Bert pulls out at the same time, leaving Gerard completely empty and whimpering.  
  
Bert grins and brings his hand down hand onto Gerard’s bare ass, and the sound echoes loudly throughout the room. “Slut,” He chides, but it sounds fond. Frank shuffles aside as Bert takes his place, stripping off the condom (Frank’s surprised they bothered) and guiding Gerard to his dick. “Go on, Frank.” He says, and Frank has no idea how he manages to sound so  _collected_. “Get back there and fuck that ass of his. He’s so fucking tight, man.”  
  
Frank awkwardly moves as best as he can with his jeans and underwear bunched up just above his knees, and he stumbles a bit and braces himself on Gerard’s bare back, and Gerard arches into the touch. Frank knows that this must be an effect of something Gerard’s taken (or a reaction from taking a variation of substances together) but that doesn’t make it any less arousing, at least not by this stage where Frank’s half way done and he’s about to get back there and fuck Gerard.  
  
Goddamn, he’s been thinking about this for  _years_ , from that first time he saw Gerard at the Eyeball house back in ’01. Of course he didn’t picture that their first time would be a threesome on a dirty tour bus floor while Gerard’s completely gone on booze and/or pills and/or coke and/or whatever the fuck else it is he takes while nobody’s looking.  
  
And right now, he’s not complaining. How could he? He’s got Gerard on his hands and knees before him, pelvis tilted up and his cock gives a particularly hard pulse at the sight. Frank puts his hands on the globes of Gerard’s ass, spreading him open, and an involuntary groan passes through his lips. “You got any more rubbers, man?”  
  
Bert’s head snaps up in surprise, and he shakes his head. “Sorry,” and in any other situation after hearing that, Frank would’ve taken action – dug around for a condom or found another way of getting off – but this definitely isn’t one of those situations. He looks down at Gerard, stretched open and pink and raw, and can’t hold back. Frank’s cock is still slick with spit and Gerard moans around Bert’s dick and he reaches to wrap a hand around the back of Frank’s bare thigh as he pushes in.  
  
God, even just after being fucked Gerard is tight, so tight around Frank’s cock, and the slide is slick and smooth and easy as Frank buries himself in the heat. He moves one of his hands to grip onto Gerard’s hip instead, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, probably hard enough to leave marks.  
  
And it’s so obvious that Frank is  _not_  going to last long; more than five minutes would be a miracle. Gerard is moving back against him right off the bat, even before Frank is coordinated enough to start moving himself. Gerard is mewling, and digging his nails into Frank’s thigh, urging him to move.  
  
After a long moment of Frank just feeling Gerard clench around him, he finally starts to move. He tries to be gentle, he really does, but that first thrust still has Gerard surging forward with the force of it and he makes a surprised, happy sound.  
  
Frank can’t help himself; he jerks Gerard’s hips towards him and just  _fucks_. Hard and fast and deep, and Gerard is moaning like a whore again, exaggerated and similar to what you hear from fake girls in bad porn, but so much better. Frank had always known that Gerard would be loud, but  _this_?  
  
“Fuck, Gerard, Jesus,” Frank gasps out, and dares to look down, at his cock sinking into Gerard’s ass, and rising back out. That image, along with Gerard starting to make that sound again, high and desperate while he clenches further around Frank’s cock, and starts moving back more demandingly. Frank manages to slide a hand down to check and yeah, Gerard’s hard again, and close as hell from the sound of things. Frank really, really wants to see Gerard come again, to feel it from the inside.  
  
“Come in his ass,” Bert says, sounding completely wrecked by this point. “It’ll make him come; he fuckin’ loves feelin’ it, don’t you, slut?” Gerard nods frantically at this, and Frank surges forward again, fucking harder still, wanting to come, wanting Gerard to come with him. God, Frank is so  _close_ , if only-  
  
And then Frank feels it; starting in his gut and his cock and spreading throughout his entire body. His balls draw up, and he thrusts in hard once, twice, and then that’s it, he’s fucking done. He comes so hard, his toes curl in his shoes, and he digs his fingers into Gerard’s sides so hard it will  _definitely_  bruise.  
  
Bert hadn’t been lying; as soon as Frank starts to come, hunched over Gerard’s back, Gerard arches against him, crying out and shaking and his ass is squeezing so hard around Frank’s cock that Frank would be surprised that it didn’t actually hurt if he wasn’t busy having the best orgasm of his  _life_.  
  
Frank isn’t sure how long it is before he comes to, but when he does Gerard is completely limp underneath him, no longer supporting himself on his arms. His ass is still up in the air, and his face is covered in ropes of come. He’s panting and mewling a little, and Bert is running his fingers through Gerard’s filthy hair, murmuring soothing words.  
  
He pulls out slowly, and Gerard whimpers at being so empty so suddenly. Frank runs a hand down Gerard’s side, from his waist to his knee, and coaxes him onto his side. Gerard is still whimpering a little, but eventually quiets down.  
  
Frank just sits on his heels and breathes for a minute, eyes trained on Gerard’s body. The man is still completely naked, pale as hell, and curled up in a ball on his side with his head resting on Bert’s thigh, no doubt covering him in slowly drying come. Bert is still soothing him with soft touches to his face and head and shoulder.  
  
“He’s always like this, after,” Bert mumbles, “Completely warn out. He loves every fuckin’ second of it, though,”  
  
Frank doesn’t say anything. Instead, he hoists his jeans and underwear back up and redoes his fly and his belt. “He’s pretty, uh, out of it.” Frank says, and quickly diverts his eyes when they land on the trail of come sliding over the cleft of Gerard’s ass cheek. “Do you think he’ll be okay to go on later?”  
  
Bert hums, “When’s your set?” Gerard is completely still on the ground. Frank’s pretty sure he’s asleep.  
  
“Four thirty. It’s…” Frank checks his watch, “Twenty-to now.”  
  
“He’ll be fine,” Bert assures. He looks – and sounds… relatively sober, actually, which is surprising. “It just takes him a few minutes to get himself together after being fucked and coming like that. I’ll take him over to the stage before you’re on.”  
  
“…thanks, man.” Frank says, because what else is he supposed to say? He hopes it didn’t come out like Frank thought –  _thanks for letting me fuck your boyfriend_.  
  
“Don’t mention it,” Bert replies with another one of his terrifyingly wide, manic grins. Frank awkwardly makes his way to the door to the main lounge on shaky legs.  
  
“I have to, uh, report back to the guys.” He says awkwardly, “I’ll see you later, I guess?”  
  
“I hope so,” Bert says, still grinning. “Pleasure doing business with you, Frankums.”  
  
Frank shudders a little, and walks out, closing the door behind him. The sun outside is awfully bright and Frank’s insides are twisting uncomfortably. Outside, it’s just like it was before. Guys are running around being obnoxious dumbasses, and roadies are carting heavy equipment back and forth between the stages and the busses, completely oblivious to what just happened in the confines of The Used’s bus. Not that they could possibly know.  
  
“Iero, Jesus!” Brian calls when Frank steps onto their bus. “I thought you’d managed to... I don't even know.”  
  
“Cool it, Bri.” Frank says easily. “I’m here, in one piece. Gerard is with Bert, also in one piece. S’all good."  
  
“I sent Bob and Ray out looking for you,” Brian continued gruffly. “Matt’s helping set up, and Mikey disappeared with the bassist from Fall Out Boy, you know, with the hair.” Brian makes a gesture over his face which Frank is guesses is supposed to resemble a swooping fringe.  
  
“Yeah,” Frank mumbles, “I’ll text ‘em, but I have to go wash up,” Frank’s pretty sure he smells like a whore house. “Oh, and let them know when they come in that I am  _never_  doing Gerard Duty again, no matter who gets their fingers to their noses first.”  
  
Later, while Frank is putting his all into  _Vampires_  and Gerard is prancing around the stage like nothing happened – Frank wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even remember, Christ, he hopes Gerard is too wasted to remember – his eyes land on Bert completely by accident. He's standing on the side of the stage and is looking right the fuck at Frank, and he smirks, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers a little in a wave.  
  
Frank swallows, gut twisting with unease, and swiftly diverts his eyes; trying his best to lose himself and his guilt in the music.


End file.
